Characters: Wilson, House
Summary: It's House's second day back at work following Rehab--and he has something to share with Wilson.
Genre: Angst, Friendship
A/N: This rather short one-shot came to me out of nowhere this morning; i believe that it may have been inspired by a discussion with leaveout following my take yesterday on episode 4.09. And for an amazing drive-by beta, heartfelt thanks to the wonderful, invaluable blackmare_9 !
P.S. Yeah--you might've read this yesterday. But then, because I continued to revise it several times after posting--and because I had a crisis of confidence based on a very weird combination of factors all coming together at the same time, I locked it. And this morn, all those factors have been put into perspective, I've [well, some bitter white tablets have--finally] gotten a handle on an unusually bad spate of pain, and I'm finished sitting out in the garden, munching on the worms blackmare_9 so generously offered to fry. So I ask your indulgence with that little blip on my radar. Here's the story, again, with a zillion minor [and likely unnecessary] revisions. I apologize.
House and Wilson glare at each other across
It’s House’s second day at work after the travesty that was Christmas Eve, the cosmic joke that was Rehab. His first day back, by unspoken agreement, he and
“You almost killed me.”
House takes a deep breath, in an attempt to calm himself. It works; when he begins to speak, his tone is neutral. “I came to you. Asked for a scrip for anti-emetics. Remember that?” He waits until
House shakes his head. “No. If you’d given me the scrip, the rest of it wouldn’t have happened. I… the withdrawal, the nausea. I couldn’t sleep. I couldn’t eat. And it was just… I had to control some of it.”
“So I stole the oxy; figured I could take just enough to take the edge off the withdrawal, get the vomiting under control. But by then I… wasn’t thinking straight. You know the rest.”
House tone has remained calm throughout, but now the hard, accusatory look is back in his eyes—and they’re trained directly at
House moves to the couch and sits. He’s still watching
When House speaks, his voice is—almost—gentle. “Just thought you should know. Because… patients don’t always lie. And doctors aren’t always right.”
The two sit, in silence, for several minutes, each lost in his own thoughts, his own memories. It’s not uncomfortable, exactly; there’s simply a mutual air of waiting. What comes next? So
Their eyes meet, and in this silent conversation, both acknowledge that there’s still work to be done, understanding and forgiveness granted—from both sides. But they’ve taken the initial step, that very first, incredibly difficult step, and House smiles hesitantly.
“Who’s buying?” he asks.
As they leave the office together,